Work Text:
It’s another miserable, rainy day when Frypan wakes to the sound of a knock on his door, followed by the twist of the door knob and slow creak of the door being pushed open.
“Morning, Newt,” he says, not bothering to look towards the door.
There’s an awkward clatter of metal hitting metal, which Fry knows to be the sound of Newt fiddling with his crutches. Then, three steps on the carpet before the mattress tilts beside him, the covers slide back and Newt manoeuvres his way into bed.
“Hey, Fry,” he finally answers, sliding his head down to meet the opposite pillow.
“Did you sleep okay?” Fry asks him. It’s the same every morning.
“Better than yesterday.”
Yesterday. The yesterday in question had been an actual nightmare that had caused Newt to start screaming in his sleep and wake up Fry’s whole family. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. But, in the three weeks since Newt had moved in with Frypan, it had definitely seemed like the worst. Fry and his mom had talked to Newt for an hour until he fell back asleep.
And Fry’s not the kind of person to let that slide by like it’s nothing.
He rolls over to face Newt, who’s staring up at the ceiling, hands clasped over his chest. “How are you feeling about that?”
"Sleeping better? Pretty good."
"The night before, Newt."
"Oh." Newt shrugs, keeping his gaze fixed on the spot above him. “Embarrassed. I’m sorry I woke you guys up.”
Frypan groans loudly and suddenly and Newt turns to look at him, shocked. “Newt, man, you gotta stop apologising for that. It’s not your fault. How would you feel if it was me?”
“That’s different,” Newt sighs.
“No it isn’t.”
“You haven’t moved into my house, Fry! And you can move around and be helpful! I’m not very helpful right now!”
Newt accentuates his point by lifting his bad leg and dropping it down on the bed. There’s a flash of regret and the blood rushes from his face with the impact, leaving him pale and wide-eyed.
“Why did you do that?” Frypan sits up and tries to right the wrong by propping Newt’s leg up.
“I don’t know,” Newt whispers, staring up at the ceiling.
“Newt, I hate to be the one to say this, but sometimes you can be a real idiot.”
Newt nods. “I kinda forgot it was attached to me.”
Frypan snorts. “Ben does that with his brain. Now, stay here. I’m getting your meds and then we’re getting ready for school. You’re not a burden to this household. You’re family and we all love you, okay? You’re helping us plenty just by being here and not somewhere out there. Got it?”
There’s a certain smile that Newt forces out when he’s trying to make people happy, and Frypan’s looking right at it now. But, because he doesn’t want to push or pry any further, he lets it go.
“Got it,” Newt smiles. “Thank you, Fry.”
"I'm always here for you."
Later that morning, Frypan is driving Newt and Thomas to school in the pouring rain, struggling to see the road markings through the flooded surface.
Thomas is fidgeting around in the back seat. “You got an umbrella, Fry?” he asks, as they pull into the school, heading to their usual park by the entrance.
Frypan does not , in fact, have an umbrella. The only one he owns is at Brenda’s house, after he let her borrow it five rainy days ago.
“It’s ten feet to the entrance, Tommy. We don’t need an umbrella,” Newt laughs from the passenger seat, fiddling with his backpack in anticipation.
They pull up to their usual spot, right by the school entrance, and Frypan represses the groan he wants to release, instead choosing to remain his cheery self.
Thomas pipes up from the backseat again. “All the disabled spots are taken.”
“I can see that, Thomas,” Frypan rolls his eyes, chuckling. He loves Thomas, but the boy has a habit of stating the obvious. “I’ll drop you off here and find a park somewhere else.”
It’s the last thing Frypan wants to do on a day like today, but he has no choice. Besides, it’s his fault for not finding another umbrella before they left the house today.
“You’ll get soaked,” Newt frowns, staring out the window.
“I’ll dry off,” Frypan smiles. “Now get out before we all end up late for class. Go on!”
Thomas climbs out and arrives at Newt’s door in a flash. He opens the door and extends a hand to Newt, who refuses it and climbs out on his own accord, as usual.
“Thanks, Fry. We’ll see you at lunch.” Thomas’ head appears in the doorway briefly before the door shuts and the two boys hurry inside, Thomas trying to shelter Newt from the rain the whole time.
Frypan turns the car around and begins weaving through the carpark, willing a free spot to appear out of nowhere. He hates the rain. It changes his whole mood. Frypan is what one might call a ‘summer person’ and is fueled by the sunlight. His older brother, Zart, likes to say that Frypan gains his energy from photosynthesis and, as ridiculous as it sounds, there’s a lot of truth to it. The sun just makes Frypan happy.
So, when he finally finds a carpark right at the back of the lot, the furthest distance possible from the entrance to their school, Frypan can’t stop the groan that leaves his lips. It’s not the worst thing in the world-- he knows that -- but turning up to class soaking wet and spending the day drying off is not high on his list of things he wants to do today. He wants to kick himself for letting Brenda borrow his umbrella and makes a mental note to pick it up from her house the next time he’s there.
Frypan parks, gets out of the car, hitting the lock button as he hurries towards the school. In his rush he fails to notice the huge puddle in his path and splashes himself up to the knees as he runs straight through it.
“God, no!” He groans, feeling the muddy car park water soak into his socks and shoes. “Gross.”
He reaches the entranceway and fights the urge to shake the water off like a dog, cringing as his clothes now stick to his skin. Yuck. Gross. Not okay.
As his hand reaches the set of double doors to let himself inside, a voice calls out behind him.
“Fry!”
Hand still on the door, Fry turns to see Gally running towards him, hoodie pulled up over his head and a huge umbrella clasped in his hand, raised high above his head.
“Did you walk to school?” Gally asks, as he reaches the entranceway, sidestepping for some younger kid to push past. Then, Gally being the unpredictable guy that he is, he reaches out and wipes Frypan’s dripping face with his sleeve.
Frypan blinks in surprise, but lets him do it. “I didn’t walk. I just had to park in the furthest possible park. No biggie.”
“Didn’t you have Newt with you?”
Frypan shrugs. “Yeah, but the disabled spots are all taken. I had to drop him and Thomas off today and find a park.”
Gally pushes open the door and gestures for Frypan to walk through, following shortly after him. “Do you have a change of clothes?”
“No, but it’s okay; I’ll dry off.” Frypan tiptoes carefully, trying his hardest not to slip over on the floor and risk being laughed at by one of his closest friends.
“I’ve got spare. Follow me.”
Frypan doesn’t have a chance to reply before Gally’s marching down the corridor, assumedly in the direction of his locker. It brings back a childhood memory: a conversation Gally once had with his mom while Fry was over at their place.
Gally’s soaked from head to toe in mud, laughing as he taps on the sliding door to his backyard, throwing it open and peering inside.
“Mom!” he yells. “Mom!”
He, Minho, Newt and Fry had been walking home from school and, being 11 year old boys, had stumbled across a puddle of mud in the park near Newt’s house. Minho and Gally had shared a look and jumped straight in, splashing each other with dirt before Newt or Frypan even had the chance to step back.
“You shanks!” Newt had laughed at them both, using the slang they’d come up with a few months earlier. “You’re a mess!”
Frypan had taken a few necessary steps backwards to avoid the flicks of mud flying his way. “You’re so gross,” he groaned, shuddering at the thought of mud coating his own skin the way it now coated both Minho and Gally.
And, as Gally called out to his mom through the open door, Frypan still kept his distance, avoiding any trace of mud.
When Gally’s mom had seen the state of him, she’d laughed and pulled out her camera to take a photo of him standing, grinning with mud now drying around him on the doorstep, next to a spotless Frypan.
As Gally was showering and cleaning himself up, Frypan watched as his mom had snuck a spare change of clothes into his backpack for the next day.
Frypan’s mom had her copy of the photo framed and placed on a shelf in their living room.
As Frypan follows Gally down the corridor, he smiles at the memory. Ever since that day, Gally had carried a change of clothes with him or in his locker. For a rainy day, he guesses, like this one.
Fry can tell, without checking the time, that the bell for class is about to go, as the hallways are buzzing with students. Gally stands a foot above most of them, conveniently, so Frypan knows he’d never lose him in the crowd.
He watches as Gally reaches up and runs a hand absently along his buzzed hair, as though checking it for something. It’s a nervous habit that Fry recognises well and he jogs a little to catch up with his friend.
“You okay, Gal?” he asks.
Gally’s hand drops. “Yeah, good. I’m gonna fail a chem test today but other than that, life’s good.” They turn a corner and Frypan can spot Gally’s locker in the distance. “Oh, and there’s this bigshot football scout coming next week that I’m supposed to impress or something if I want to get a scholarship to his college. I don’t even know if I want to go to college.”
Fry knows exactly what he’s going to do. He’s going to graduate high school and start his next big step at culinary school, with the dream of one day becoming a chef in his own restaurant. It’s the same plan he’s had since he was five years old and nothing has ever made him want to change it.
“Maybe I should just go to cooking school too,” Gally huffs. “Pick something and just do it, you know?”
“Gally, when you last attempted cooking the stove caught fire when you tried to boil water.”
“Exactly! I need the education.”
Frypan frowns at that. “You don’t have to go to college if you don’t want to, Gally. You gotta do what’s right for you.”
Gally’s pace slows a little. Clearly he’s thinking it over. “I just need to… figure things out. I don’t know what’s right for me yet.”
They arrive at Gally’s locker and he turns the dial this way and that until the door swings open.
He reaches in for the bag of clothing. “Here. They should fit and you’ll look as dope as I do.”
Frypan snorts. “You’re lucky we have the same taste. I can’t even imagine Thomas wearing your clothes.”
The locker slams shut. “Thomas would drown in my clothes anyway. The dude barely even reaches my shoulder. He went missing once and we only found him when I stood up. Turns out I’d been sitting on him the whole time.”
“He’s not that small,” Frypan laughs.
The bell rings.
“Well, hurry up and change or you’ll be late for whatever the hell you do here,” Gally urges. “See you later, Fry.”
He’s already walking away, so Frypan has to call out to him.
“Gally?!”
“Yeah?”
“This conversation isn’t over. We’ll figure something out for you.”
A lopsided smile works its way onto Gally’s face. “Thanks, Fry. Talk later.”
“See ya, Gally. Thanks for the clothes.”
It’s an hour until lunch and Frypan’s feeling warm and hugely relieved that he hasn’t spent all morning praying for his clothes to dry faster. They’re working on a project in biology and, in an unlikely turn of events, he and Minho have paired up to produce something. What that something is, they’re still figuring out.
Clearly, Minho’s mind isn’t on the project, because the question he asks doesn’t even remotely relate.
“Do you think Ben’s straight?”
Frypan frowns into his laptop screen, trying to make sense of what he’s reading and wondering how Minho’s question has anything to do with it. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it, if I’m honest. Maybe… I’ve seen signs, I guess.”
“Do you think I’ve got a shot with him?”
Considering he’s not going to be allowed to focus on this project until he answers, Frypan pushes his laptop away from him. The truth is, he has given it thought before. Ben and Minho have this relationship that reminds Frypan a little of Newt and Thomas. It’s friendly, but there’s some underlying, hidden meaning in everything they say. Frypan had just assumed Newt and Thomas were close friends until they got together. Then everything made more sense. Now, he’s a little wiser, and he’s seeing a similar pattern in the way Ben and Minho talk.
“Frypan?”
“Right, right. Just thinking! Sorry!” He pauses and scratches the back of his head. “Minho,” he starts, realising that what he’s about to say could change things drastically between his two friends. To Frypan, it’s worth it. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That boy likes you back.”
For a rare moment, Minho is silent, smiling in quiet awe at his absentmindedly fidgeting hands. “Really?”
The smile is contagious. “Yes, really. He gives you the same look Thomas gives Newt.”
“Heart eyes? Ben gives me heart eyes?”
Frypan laughs. “Yeah, Minho. Ben gives you heart eyes. But you can’t rush into this. You know that, right? Ben’s not out. He needs to work out how he’s feeling on his own. Let him figure it out in his own time, okay?”
Minho groans and throws his head into his hands. “That could take forever. This is Ben we’re talking about. It takes him an hour to decide if he wants chunky or shoestring fries!”
The laptop on Frypan’s table is just there for decoration now. He’ll have to do the rest of the work at home. “Just be there for him. If you’re there, he’ll start to figure it out for himself. He will. But you can’t push him. Okay, Minho?”
Minho is silent.
“ Okay, Minho?”
“Fine! No pushing… but can I just leave hints where-”
“No!”
“Pride month is-”
“No! He needs to figure it out for himself. If you push him, you’ll end up outing him.”
The cogs in Minho’s brain are turning as he tries to find a way around what Frypan’s just said. But, whatever scenarios he plays out, Frypan knows he’s right.
“Fine,” Minho sighs. “But you’re sure he likes me?”
“I’m only telling you what I see,” Frypan shrugs. “I can’t tell you how he feels for sure.”
“Heart eyes though?”
“Definitely heart eyes.”
When the bell rings at the end of the period, Minho is still smiling to himself.
Because it’s a rainy day, Brenda suggests they all have a movie night. And, because Frypan is already taking Newt and Thomas back to his place, he invites the rest of the group over too. Football training is cancelled, so the more coordinated members of the group will actually be able to come over before it’s dark. Nights like these, Frypan sees as an opportunity to showcase his culinary skills, and is already planning out a range of snacks and gourmet pizzas to prepare.
Thomas is without a doubt the most excited member of the car trip home, chattering away about how they should go down memory lane and watch all the movies they used to watch as kids. Frypan tunes back into the conversation at the perfect time.
“Motomoto was sexy,” Newt agrees.
“Big and chunky. You know when he struts out of the water? Leading man material.”
“What the hell are you two talking about?” Frypan laughs, knowing exactly what they’re referring to but refusing to acknowledge it.
“Motomoto from Madagascar 2! You know the big hippo guy with the eyebrows and the pecs? Tell me you didn’t have a crush on him!”
Thomas’ enthusiasm for Motomoto really has taken Frypan by surprise. There really is no predicting what this kid will say next.
“I did not have a crush on Motomoto the hippopotamus from Madagascar.”
“Madagascar 2 ,” Newt corrects him. “Escape to Africa.”
“You’re both nuts.”
A few minutes later, they pull up to Frypan’s house, Big and Chunky playing through the car speakers for the whole neighbourhood to hear, Newt and Frypan laughing at the top of their lungs as Thomas impersonates an objectively sexy hippo.
The movie night itself, Frypan finds stressful. His oven baked fries aren't crisping up the way he wants them to and he can't pinpoint what was missing from the spring rolls, but they just didn't taste the way he wanted them to. No, he's not a perfectionist, but he always wants the best for his friends on every level possible, and this just isn't it.
He's peering into the oven for the sixth time in the last minute when he hears footsteps behind him.
"You know we're all going to love it no matter how you cook it, right?"
Of course it's kind-hearted Teresa who’s sensed he’s stressing out.
“Yeah,” he sighs, stepping back to stare at the glow coming from the oven. “But it would be nice if it could just go to plan.”
Teresa’s silent for a moment, and Frypan can sense her watching him.
“What?” he asks, finally giving in and looking at her.
“When was the last time you did something for yourself?” she asks, and there’s a frown on her face that tells him he’s about to be lectured.
So, to diffuse the seriousness of that question, Frypan laughs. “I don’t know. Tonight? Cooking? I like cooking.”
By the look on Teresa’s face, he hasn’t passed her test.
“You’re cooking for us, Fry. You’re stressing out because you’re worried what you’re making won’t be good enough for us. When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to -- because you enjoyed it-- not influenced by anybody else at all.”
Frypan forces out a laugh again but, as he tries to come up with a witty response, he falls short. When he gives himself a moment to think about it, he doesn’t know when the last time was that he did something for himself and not someone else. Has he ever done that? Does he know how to do that?
There’s a sad smile on Teresa’s face. “That’s what I thought. You’re always making sure the rest of us are happy or entertained, which is just… you’re the most incredible friend, Fry, but you’re shit at caring for yourself.”
She perches up on the benchtop and gestures for him to do the same, so Frypan sits beside her.
“Especially recently,” she continues. “Newt living here. You’re the one who’s been driving him to his appointments all the time, dropping him off at school, checking in on him while he’s here. That’s a lot for one person.”
“He’s not a burden, Teresa.”
“No! No, that’s not what I’m saying at all! I’m just saying you don’t need to take on all of that, you know? We’re here too.”
“I’m his friend.”
“And so are we.”
Teresa uses the silence that follows to take Frypan’s hand in both of her own. “I just don’t want you to lose yourself when you’re so busy finding everybody else.”
She’s right. Frypan knows that. And, if he’s completely honest about it, the thought scares him. He doesn’t even know who he is if it’s not in the context of his friends. To them, he’s helpful, friendly, and reliable. But, to himself, he’s a complete stranger.
These problems that everyone else has; figuring themselves out, finding love, working through their past -- Frypan doesn’t have any of that. He hasn’t given himself the time to think about any of it, if there is any of it to think about. Minho wondering if Ben might like him is something that’s occupied Frypan’s mind before, but he’s never wondered if anyone might like him or if he might like them. He hasn’t had a moment to consider if he likes girls, or boys, or anyone else, or all of the above.
Who is Frypan without his friends?
“You okay?”
He’s staring down at Teresa’s hand, clasped in his, when she speaks.
Frypan nods slowly. “Thank you. I think you’re right.”
Teresa smiles with her signature impish grin. “I always am, Frypan.”
Of course, at that moment somebody else wanders into the kitchen.
“Oh! Shit! I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be… doing,” Gally trails off, hands halfway to his face out of instinct to shield his eyes for some strange reason. “What exactly are you doing?”
The laugh that leaves Teresa’s lips is borderline psychotic. Frypan tends to forget that she and Brenda have this desire to stir up chao wherever they go.
“I’m giving him my sage words of advice, Gally. Frypan needs to take care of himself and we need to help him do that, okay?”
“What’s wrong, Fry?” Gally asks, suddenly worried by what Teresa’s said.
Frypan jumps down from the bench and opens the oven. The fries are perfectly cooked now, so he fishes the tray out. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been busy.”
“Too busy,” Teresa interjects.
“What do you mean?”
Frypan places the tray gently on the stovetop. “Don’t worry about it.”
“That looks so good,” Gally practically drools over the tray.
Frypan swats his hand away before it can snatch any of the fries. “Hands off! I’m not finished!”
“Are you going to take care of yourself, Fry?”
Teresa’s clearly not letting the subject change so easily and, although Frypan appreciates her caring so much, he has to suppress an eyeroll at her scolding tone.
“I’ll try, Teresa.”
Much to Frypan’s relief, Teresa was right about everyone liking the food. He gets a compliment from every single person and Brenda even goes as far as to make him send her specific recipes on the spot.
He sits on the couch between Thomas and Gally, paying no attention to whatever movie is playing on the screen because Ben’s frowning at his phone, Gally’s running his hand through his hair nervously, Minho’s sneaking sad little glances at Ben from the other side of the room and, to top it off, Frypan can see Newt getting restless out of the corner of his eye.
That last one is an easy fix. Frypan gets up to search his room for an extra pillow and blanket to keep Newt comfortable. When Newt’s tucked in and happier, Fry’s attention turns to Gally, who still has his hand in his hair.
So, to Gally’s backpack he goes, searching the pockets for the little grey cube that really should be making an appearance more often. It’s not in the main pocket, so Frypan checks the front one, sighing in relief when his hand brushes past it. The next step involves subtlety, so he approaches the back of the couch with caution and quietly pulls Gally’s hand away from his head, placing the fidget cube into it without a word. Gally says nothing, but his hands drop to his lap, the cube between them, gratefully received.
But now Fry’s tossing up between Ben and Minho and who to help next. He decides on Minho. There’s one sure-fire way to perk Minho up and that’s through inflating his ego.
On screen, Katniss Everdeen is sitting in a cave, talking to Peeta. Frypan realises he’s missed a lot of the movie, his mind having drifted far away. It’s a good thing he’s seen it so many times before, thanks to Brenda’s obsession with the series.
“Minho, I bet you’d have won this thing by the end of the first day,” Frypan laughs.
His comment seems to shake Minho from wherever his thoughts had wandered to. Ben looks up from his phone as Minho smirks.
“You know it. Those bitches wouldn’t see me coming. Shortest games ever.”
“It depends who else was there,” Gally interjects. “If we’re talking all of us, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”
Minho shakes his head. “You’re big but you’re slow. I’ve seen you on the football field, remember? I’d run laps around you.”
“You wish.”
“Watch the movie,” Brenda pipes up from where she’s sprawled out across the floor. “Besides, I’d win and you know it.”
Thomas throws a cushion at her head but Brenda’s sharp reflexes deflect it, sending it somewhere behind the couch.
“My point stands,” she smirks before returning her focus to the screen.
“My money’s still on Minho,” Thomas whispers to Fry, which earns him a triumphant wink from an eavesdropping Minho.
Mission accomplished, Fry notes to himself, as Minho’s smile remains on his face, long after the conversation dies down.
Which leaves him with Ben, who’s still preoccupied by his phone.
So Frypan pulls out his own.
Shypan to Ben Ten: you okay?
Ben doesn’t look up from his phone, just frowns further as he types out his reply.
Ben Ten to Shypan: i’m fine. i just got a bad grade and it’s bumming me out.
The news surprises Frypan. Ben doesn’t take the smartest subjects at school, but the ones he does take, he excels in. Frypan can’t remember him ever getting less than a B+ on any test.
Shypan to Ben Ten: aw man, that sucks. what class?
Ben Ten to Shypan: biology :/
Shypan to Ben Ten: isn’t mr wilson really tough on you anyway? that shank hates the world. you’re still one of the smartest people i know.
Ben Ten to Shypan: but what if this stops me from getting into college? what if this is the thing that holds me back?
Ben’s a worrier, which is something that Frypan tends to forget, because he only shows it every once in a while. But, tonight, this is a prime example of how Ben will just quietly fester away over something that could be solved in a matter of a few words.
Shypan to Ben Ten: you’re a straight a student. if you don’t get in because of this one, random grade, then nobody’s getting in. you’re amazing, ben. don’t let one stupid grade tell you otherwise.
And, finally, Ben smiles.
Ben Ten to Shypan: thanks, fry.
The unfortunate part of this whole exchange is that Frypan has been so distracted by it that he’s failed to notice Teresa glaring at him from across the room. It’s only once Ben’s last message comes through that Frypan looks up and notices her. Before he can open his mouth to get a word in, she’s speaking.
“I’d like to stage an intervention,” she announces, leaning over to pause the movie. Gally laughs at the dopey look on Peeta’s face, paused midway through speaking.
“Wha’ inter’ention?” Thomas asks, scooping another handful of chips into his mouth. Newt reaches out to close his boyfriend’s mouth while he chews.
Teresa sighs. “Frypan, I just watched you get up to make Newt comfortable, keep Gally happy, cheer Minho up, and offer some sort of counselling service to Ben over text.”
“What’s wrong with Minho?” Ben asks.
At the same time Minho demands, “is Ben okay?”
Teresa ignores them both and chooses to focus her attention on Frypan, who suddenly feels as though he’s about to be interrogated.
“Frypan, we love you. And any one of us would admit that you’re sort of the glue of our group. You keep us all happy and fed and looked after.”
“Frypan’s my mom,” Minho nods.
Once again, Teresa ignores him. “We need to help him share the load, okay? We need to be looking after each other so that it’s not always Frypan that ends up doing it.”
“You have done an awful lot for me,” Newt admits, turning to face Frypan now. “I haven’t exactly done a lot in return.”
This is exactly what Frypan didn’t want to happen. He groans. “Newt, you don’t need to do anything. You don’t owe me anything. Any of you. I like taking care of you.”
“What about taking care of yourself?” Brenda pipes up. “You’re so stressed, Fry. We’ve all noticed it.”
And, to that, Frypan has nothing to say. She’s right. Just like Teresa was right. So he sighs.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks, finally giving in.
There’s a pause, and Frypan wonders if any of them have thought this far ahead in their ‘intervention plans’.
“You’re going to pick the next movie,” Brenda states.
“And I’m going to bring you more Sprite,” Gally adds.
“I’m clearing the table,” Teresa winks.
“I’m doing the dishes,” says Ben.
“I’m helping Ben with that.” Predictable.
Thomas has been thinking hard. “I’m driving us everywhere from now on.”
“Including my appointments,” Newt adds. “And I’m going to cook for you whether you like it or not.”
“Newt-”
“Whether you like it or not.”
Somehow, those are the words that settle it for Fry. The weight that’s been sitting on his shoulders is lifted a little with every contribution from his friends. Gally brings him a glass of Sprite, Teresa clears up the empty plates and he hears Ben and Minho laughing as they wash them in the kitchen. Everything feels a little easier and, weirdly, everyone seems a little happier. Are they more looked after when they have each other? When that care is shared?
Maybe it does make more sense that way. Maybe Frypan would feel better knowing a whole group of people were there for him, rather than relying on one person most of the time.
He smiles when the Hunger Games finishes and he gets to pick the next movie, deciding on a family favourite, The Princess Bride. Thomas even shares his chips with him as the movie begins and Frypan settles in, listening to the rain bucket down outside. He’s happy here, amongst his friends, warm and safe. He knows there’s a reason that he’s the glue, and it’s that in keeping them together, he’s able to keep himself together too. Frypan feels whole.